


The Terminal

by Nehszriah



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Airport AU, F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fic, this is a warm-up for getting back into the post-vacation writing groove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nehszriah/pseuds/Nehszriah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU prompt fill where twelve is a pilot/air steward & clara's the nice girl who works at the airport's bookshop and has been saving all her life to travel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Terminal

**Author's Note:**

> This one was really interesting because I started writing it while waiting in an airport (time I flew before that was before MMMbop was a thing and brick cellphones were common af) as well as on the plane itself. I would also like to dedicate this to the young lady wearing a “WHOVIAN” knit hat who was sitting on the plane into Detroit next to me yesterday, as she and her brother had a connecting flight they needed to catch, as well as lots of sleep. The following also makes mention of Danny in a positive light, though not a boyfriend light, so apologies to my fellow Pinkwaldians.

She took the job because she wanted to meet someone interesting, which she did on a daily basis, it nearly seemed like. There were always new people coming and going, serving to satiate her need. Being stuck in one place was so tedious and boring; she was saving up to travel. She didn’t care where she was going to travel to—all she cared about was leaving, seeing the world, even if it involved scrimping and saving working in an airport bookstore in order to do so.

There were a couple people she saw regularly, and that was fine. There was Danny, the nice bloke in security… he was really nice. He came around every now and then, made her laugh, joked around. His visits made her want to actually stay sometimes—the thought of being with a guy who seemed to genuinely adore her was of course enough to keep her in one spot—but the times he wasn’t there were often pure torture. She wondered what people were doing and where they were going, dragging along overnight bags and talking into their mobiles so importantly. Were they really that important or were they merely showing off? Though they were most likely the latter, she preferred to think it was the former, creating stories for them during the long periods of her shift when no one bought anything and merely stalked her shop to flip through a magazine before boarding. They all had very important places to go and people to see, not headed off to Dublin to see Great-Uncle Colin, or to Toronto to visit an old uni mate.

“How much?” a man asked one day, holding out a book. Clara snapped out of her daydream about a dashing young spy headed to Amsterdam to catch a diamond thief and looked at her silver-haired customer, going red in the face.

“I’m sorry—two pound-seven,” she replied. The man paid for the book and continued staring at her, as if attempting to deconstruct her without saying a word. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nothing, Clara,” he said quickly, his eyes flitting down to the name tag on her chest for a moment. His accent drew her in, the rolling, rough Glasgow tones welcoming her. “You work here for very long?”

“Couple months; how come?”

“I haven’t seen you before—I like to frequent this airport on my travels.”

“Enjoy Lancashire? You must be joking,” she smirked.

“Afraid not,” he replied, shoving the book under his arm. “It’s a good stop-over when you’re on the run.”

That definitely caught her attention. “On the run from what?”

“Anything and everything,” he replied. “You never know what or whom you’re going to need to run from next.”

“Sounds like a dangerous sort of life,” she chuckled. Clara didn’t mind a good flirt every now and then, and it was even more enjoyable when the one deciding to flirt was as sharp as he was. Wearing a dark blue jacket complete with a noticeable red lining, he seemed too flashy for a pilot and too dressed-up for a new member of security. There was no insignia on his clothes, meaning he wasn’t some other member of airline staff.

“Maybe I’ll show you some time,” he said. “Well, I have to get going. Goodbye for now, Clara.”

“Goodbye…?”

“Just call me ‘the Doctor’.”

“Alright then—goodbye, Doctor.” Might as well go ahead and indulge him; there was little harm in it. He walked away and Clara went back to daydreaming. Chances are they were never going to meet again, so why not?

* * *

“Swiss chocolate,” the Doctor announced, placing a bag down on the counter. “Nice and dark, with some sort of berry filling.”

“That’s… _nice_ …” Clara said. It was a midnight shift during a major travel low, meaning that they were virtually alone in the vast terminal. “What did you bring that for?”

“You,” he replied, as if it were the plainest thing in the world. “I saw it while in Northern Italy and thought you’d like some.”

“…and here I thought people went to _Switzerland_ for Swiss chocolate,” she joked. Clara took a piece and broke off the end with her teeth—it really _was_ delicious. “Thank you.”

“Well, you know how the Swiss can’t decide on whether or not they’re French or German or Italian or some other weird shit, or a combination, so sometimes you find legit Swiss things where you wouldn’t necessarily expect them.”

“What’s the other thing?” she wondered. The Doctor raised an eyebrow at her and took a piece of the chocolate he’d given her, stuffing it in his gob. “You know, that the Swiss think they are?”

“Oh, _Romansch_ is what they call it, and it’s just this odd mix of Latin, German, Celtic, and whatever else was isolated in the mountains there,” he shrugged, mouth full of chocolate. “I don’t know the specifics—I just hear it a lot, is all.”

“Maybe that’s where I’ll go first then,” she said. “I’ve got almost enough saved up for a decent trip.”

“It’ll be nice to see you on the other side of this desk for once,” he grinned. “Have to catch my flight—see you Wednesday?”

“Maybe,” she replied.

* * *

Customers were legitimately the worst. Clara stood at one of the shelving units rearranging the books on it. A horde of tweens getting ready for a class trip had come through and utterly trashed her tiny store. What sort of tweens had a class trip where they needed to travel, and let alone go into a bookstore just to mock the concept of paper and ink when they could have an ebook instead? Technology-spoiled public school brats, that’s whom. Paper books were fine, electronic books were fine, but being a little snot was not fine. She frowned at the thought of the two kids with them, the ones trying to tell their classmates to knock it off; she appreciated them, the kids who were there either on scholarship or were raised right (or even both—she didn’t mind), and they were the only reason why she hadn’t summoned Danny over.

“Here I thought you’d be off traveling about the cantons,” the Doctor smirked. Clara jumped at the sound of his voice, dropping the books that were in her hand. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said before cursing under her breath. “Bunch of rich kids came storming through.”

“Sounds like fun,” he scoffed. He then picked up some books and began to help sorting. “Take your trip yet?”

“No… my motorbike got wrecked while I was here and replacing it wasn’t cheap.”

“At least it was just the motorbike and not you,” he replied. “Don’t worry though; I believe you’ll get there one day.”

“…and why do you say that?”

“…because I walked into an uncharacteristically messy bookshop and not a murder scene just now.” They continued sorting in silence, enjoying one another’s company. It didn’t take them long to finish and they found themselves standing close to one another. “When do you punch out?”

“Not for another few hours,” she said.

“I’ll be gone by then, but here.” He pulled out a card and handed it to her; there was a blue silhouette of an airplane on it, with “THE DOCTOR” written underneath. “Go ahead and show this to the hostess over at the Karnita and I can guarantee you the best Mexican food you’ve ever had.”

“You mean that place at the other end of the terminal? I didn’t know that it was the best.”

“Best outside of Mexico and the American Pacific Coast.”

“Why?”

“I think you deserve it.”

Clara smirked at him, the first time she could remember smiling all day.

* * *

Turned out the food _was_ delicious, as well as free. Clara ate her beans and rice laughing at the fact that the Doctor seemed to be the only man she’d ever met that could pull off a date without even being there.

* * *

“I’m telling you, Miss: you’ve got it all wrong,” the customer said. She had just accused him of attempting to shoplift from right under her nose and Danny’s, instead attempting to blame it on another young man who had been there.

“And I’m telling you, you little thrill-seeker: don’t you _dare_ think that you can pull one over on me,” she warned, jabbing her pointer finger in his face. “Rigsy is a regular customer of mine, so don’t even _try_ claiming he’s just some hoodlum looking for a quick getaway.”

“A regular customer? So he’s stolen from you before… or you’re in on his game.”

“Why you…!”

“Okay, this is where I step in and take you down to the office for questioning,” Danny said, stepping between the two. He escorted the customer out of the bookstore, making sure he shot Clara a look that was one of pride in her and exasperation at the man whose arm he was clutching. Rigsy gently placed a hand on her shoulder, getting her attention.

“Hey, thanks,” he said. “I’d love to stay to find out what happens, but it’s Lucy’s birthday tomorrow and I have to get going.”

“No—I understand,” she replied, attempting to calm down. “Tell Jen I say hi, yeah? Baby’s First Birthday is an important one.”

“That’s an understatement,” Rigsy beamed before leaving. Clara watched him as he rushed down the terminal in an effort to find his gate, jumping when another hand rested on her shoulder. It was the Doctor, who jerked backwards in response to her surprise.

“Christ, Doctor, don’t _do that_ ,” she said.

“You let the kid do it,” he reasoned. “I mean, what is he? Sixteen?”

“Twenty-two; Rigsy and I went to school together,” Clara explained. “He does a bit of traveling for work now and that’s how we keep up.”

“You’re not twenty-two…”

“…but I _was_ part of a mentoring program that set up older students with younger ones. That was when he lived in Blackpool for a time, before he went to live with his aunt in Bristol. Rigsy’s a good guy and I’m glad to know him.”

“Good,” the Doctor said. “Not that I want to choose your friends, but it’d be a shame if you were hanging out with a bunch of pudding-brained idiots who weren’t worth a second glance.”

“I take it you get a lot of those?” she wondered.

“Depends on where I’m at, but yeah,” he said. “He looks like a typical brain-dead kid—glad you’re able to prove me wrong on that.”

“Something tells me that you don’t get proven wrong very often then,” she snarked, going back behind the store counter. Leaning up against it, she saw that the Doctor was dressed comfier than usual in a hoodie and pajama trousers, his hair in a mess. “Did you get a dress-down coupon from work?”

“Naw; just felt like being a bit comfier today—headed out on a longer flight today and thought I’d frighten the passengers.”

“It suits you,” she said. Clara let out a little laugh and stared at him. “Next thing I know, you’ll be coming in here with a guitar and playing David Bowie.”

“I’d prefer some Pink Floyd, or maybe some Who if I get a say in your fantasies,” he said. Placing a book on the counter, he held out some money to pay for it. “Didn’t mark you as a Bowie fan.”

“Did you _see him_ in Labyrinth? It’s no wonder that movie is a great awakening for teen girls all these years later,” she smirked. She made change and watched his face grow red. “Too much information?”

“No—just forgot that was a thing.” He took his book and bowed his head in embarrassment. “Next Wednesday? Maybe?”

“Definitely.”

* * *

As much as Clara hated being cooped up in her tiny shopfront, the times when she got to wander around the airport after her shift was over remained some of the better things. She loved watching the planes take off and land, everyone rushing around. Long gone were the days when people could simply show up at an airport and do such a thing and she took advantage of the freedom her job gave her.

“Wonders,” a voice said. Clara glanced over her shoulder and saw the Doctor staring at her, hands jammed in his trouser pockets. He sat down next to her and rested his elbows on his knees, not caring about crushing the elbows of his jacket of red velvet. “You get to see such wonderful things when you fly—the topside of clouds when they aren’t mountains, the endless blue of the sea, and an entire county’s borders within sight. Have you flown somewhere before?”

“No,” she admitted. “I’m saving though, and one day I’ll backback around the globe.”

“A tiny thing like you? All alone?”

“I can do it—don’t let the pretty face fool you, because I’m cleverer than I look.”

“Good, because I think I could use someone aboard like you,” he replied. Clara looked over at him, speechless.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean: I’m offering you a job. I’m a private for-hire pilot and I need someone to keep me company up in the cockpit. It’s not copilot stuff, but it does involve learning on the job and traveling the world. I can’t pay you all that well, though…”

“I’ll take it,” she replied.

“Really?” he chuckled. “You’re willing to go to some dangerous places, create trip itinerary, and boss around people you don’t know simply because you went on Wikipedia before takeoff and they didn’t?”

She grinned ear to ear. Of _course_ she would.


End file.
